


I Hate You, I Love You || Francis Bonnefoy x Reader

by LadyCookieCupcake



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Agender!reader, Angst, By Gnash (ft Olivia O'Brien), EmotionallyHurt!Reader, Hurt/Comfort (except there really isn't much comfort), I Hate You I love You, Mentioned England (Hetalia), Other, Player!Francis, Reader fanfic, Songfic, can be read as male or female reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:50:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6088978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCookieCupcake/pseuds/LadyCookieCupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When loving someone hurts so much, should you really continue it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hate You, I Love You || Francis Bonnefoy x Reader

The harsh slam of the front door resulted a sharp wrinkle of your nose as your lips pursed. You had the sudden urge to get up from the sofa and run after him, to slam the door back open and drag him back in, demand he never leave. You didn't want him to leave...But you also didn't want him to know he'd won. He knew, of course he did, it seemed to know everything when it came to you, even things you yourself were still learning about. Why would this be any different?

 

Still you refused to go after him. You would not let him any further, not any more. You would not give into what he wanted so much. If he wanted it so badly, he'd have to come after you. You would  _not_ let him rule you. Ever...

 

Yet, not even a minute later, you were up from the sofa, leaving behind everything, and before you even knew it the door was open and you were racing down the path, throwing your arms around his waist. You buried your face into his back, and despite not being able to see him, you knew he had smirked. You knew he had won, and you hated yourself for it. 

 

•

 

You watched as Francis' chest raised softly before falling, repeating this over and over again. His eyes were closed and his face held a peaceful look to it. One hand under the pillow, the other thrown over his eyes, he looked so wonderful, so peaceful, like the world could do no wrong to this man.

  
You hated it. You hated him, hated what he did to you, how he made your heart tighten and your stomach flutter and the way you would look at his lips and just wish that right then and there he was using them to kiss you instead of-. Your eyes suddenly shut tightly, lips quivering as those horrid memories kept replaying over in his mind. This was not aright, you knew this. You knew that everyday with your 'beloved' boyfriend should be spent with softly-spoken sweet nothings and butterfly kisses and surprises hugs and- and...Not this. Not arguing every second of every day, not the front door slamming as he walked out, knowing after a while you would follow. You'd always follow.

  
The sound of sheets shifting could be heard but still you ignored it, eyes still shut, fists still clenched. Not a second later, an arm was thrown across your middle but still, despite wanting so badly to push it off and hug it in the same time, you did nothing. You did not flinch, you did not push at it, you did not hug it. Nothing, just ignored it. Using his arm, he pulled you closer and snuggled deeper into you, his perfectly soft lips laying soft kisses on your back.

  
_Don't do anything, (Y/N). Don't do anything_ , you willed yourself mentally, even as his lips began slipping lower and lower down your back, even as he suddenly climbed on top of you and started kissing your neck, gently nipping at it before slowly moving down. But then he hit the right spot, and you couldn't help it - you moaned, loud and clear, eyes snapping wide open. Even when you could feel the twist of his lips as he smirked, your back still arched, still all-too-eager for the attention from your love, all-too-eager for what you knew would end shortly. 

  
And just as he got so close to below your waistline, you were proven correct by the sharp ringing sound of a phone. The lyrics of some sort of love song ( _probably England's favourite_ , you couldn't help thinking bitterly) began playing, loud and obnoxious, reminding you of why you hated him. All too quickly he paused, hand shooting over to the phone as he rolled off of you. Letting the duvet fall off of him, he stood, giving you a perfect view of his behind.  He didn't seem to care, however, too focused on the other person's voice and answering them.

  
As he nodded and answered, somehow apologising in a seductive tone to the other person, promising that he was on his way, you clenched your eyes shut even tighter as you felt a lump begin to form in your throat. When he left, he didn't bother kissing you goodbye. _Why would he? Only lovers who actually love each other do that._

 

•

 

You were on your way back to the house when you saw it - a beautiful couple  _loving_  each other. The man had his arm wrapped around her shoulder, sharing his warmth with her in this chilly season. Occasionally he'd say something and she would smile or laugh, looking up at him with such adoring eyes it made you ache.  
  
After it became too much, you had to look away. Your heart thudded painfully against your chest and your eyes stung with unshed tears. It became almost harder to breathe due to the lump in your throat, and really all you wanted to do was just collapse. For once fall to the ground and see who would really care to run over and check if you were okay.  _Probably no one._  
  
But you didn't. You couldn't. You weren't going to let him win, and you know what? You meant it this time. Francis Bonnefoy would _not_ win. Quickly walking home, you left the shopping bags on the kitchen table, uncaring if the milk spoiled or the frozen food unfroze, and ran straight up to your room. Francis was at yet another World Meeting, probably throwing in the occasional remark and shamelessly flirting with the British man who was so oblivious to the goings on in their...thing (you couldn't quite call it a relationship; surely a relationship was meant to be a paring of two _happy_ people). It hurt so much to look at him. Even despite knowing he didn't know what the Frenchman was doing to you, you hated him...or at least, you pretended you did. You couldn't quite hate him for something that wasn't his fault, no matter how much you may will yourself to do so.  
  
_Focus,_  you mentally scolded yourself,  _He'll be home soon. You need to be gone before he comes back._  So, shaking your head rid of any possible thoughts of this being a bad idea, you grabbed a duffle bag and began shoving all of the clothing you had and any possible personal belongings. You didn't have much, having thrown all of the necessary amounts of clothing into it when you had ran away with Francis. You had thought you were eloping with the love of your life, the 'one'. _Foolish._  
  
Making sure you had everything, not wanting to leave even one thing behind, you zipped the duffle bag up and slipped on a comfortable pair of shoes. You'd be doing a lot of walking soon, you wanted to be as comfortable as possible. Grabbing the duffle bag, you ran down the stairs, threw on your coat and then, without one look back at this horrible place you'd wanted so desperately to call home, you left, slamming the door behind you. You didn't bother leaving behind a note. He wouldn't care anyway.  
  
You were finally free, free of all of this hated love of yours, free of being used, free of wanting to be strong only to be weak in his mere presence. You could finally leave and live your life, without hating yourself for loving someone. You smiled and walked on, feeling more and more free with every step you took away from the house.


End file.
